Loving a Dragon
by rockmeami
Summary: Silvera Black and her father have escaped to America to hide from Death Eaters. When Silvera is accepted to Hogwarts, she must change her identity and hide it from everyone. Will she be able to keep her cover when she falls for the enemy? Rated M for future chapters.
1. How It Begins

"Lunch is ready!" My dad shouts upstairs, his voice mixing itself with Axl Rose, the lead singer of one of my favorite bands: Guns 'N Roses.

"'Kay, Dad!" I yell back after giving my little red radio a stern look. "Abscendio," I command, and it shuts off with a whine. My mum, the lover of Muggle technology she was, helped my older sister put a spell on the little radio many years ago. When Siria went off to school, she gave it to me as a gift. Mum never got to see Siria off, though. Charis Black, my mum, was killed in the hands of a crazy Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who's dedicated followers, when I was three. Dad still won't tell me why she died. I guess I'm too young, still. I chose to take on Mum's last name, you know, for respect. It's just my dad and me now. Siria is at a wizarding school in Europe; Dad's hope is that I can get in there, too. My eldest sibling, Andrew, is a Muggle botanist in southern Florida. My dad has never really liked his job choice. It took Siria ages to convince Dad that Andrew was doing a good thing, even though he was working a Muggle job. Magic does help him in the workplace, but Siria doesn't mention it.

Anyways, now Dad and I live in America; South Dakota, actually. We have since Mum died. Dad thought it'd be best if we were separated by a large body of water from our crazy, murderous relatives. Almost the entire Black family was, or had been, allied with You-Know-Who; if not, they hated Muggles- except for my immediate family. They're all a bunch of crazy gits, Dad says. I don't remember England very well from when we lived there, but when Siria prepared to go to her first year at Hogwarts—the school in Europe—Dad let me Floo to Diagon Alley with him. It was wonderful. There are a few places similar to Diagon Alley here in America, but Dad only trusts Mr. Ollivander when it came to wands. He decided Siria should get the rest of her things there as well for sake of quality and convenience. He says lots of vendors in America peddle cheaply-made things that never hold up.

The wizarding population is much larger in Europe, Dad says, and most of the wizards and witches in America reside in Colorado. That's where the American Ministry of Magic is. Dad works for the Ministry; he's an Auror, even though he lives here. He uses Floo powder to go in to work four days a week. I'm proud of my dad. Being an Auror is hard work, from what he's told me. Apparently being an Auror in a family of Dark wizards and Death Eaters, he was the enemy of the massive Black family. Because of his job, I'm at home alone a lot, but I've gotten used to it. I'm almost eleven after all, and my dad places wards around the house every day. I don't know why he bothers; nobody lives in South Dakota anyway.

I trot out of my now-silent room and slide, bottom-first, down the bannister.

"Silvera Osiris! What have I said about sliding down the bannister?" My dad says sternly.

I grin sheepishly. "That I shouldn't,"

He sighed. "No matter. Please set the table, dear. The burgers are almost done." Dad says in his often goofy-sounding British accent and slips through the open screen door to tend to the grill. My dad isn't as awkward as most pureblood wizards when it came to accustoming to Muggle life and customs. He's a pretty cool dude, for being a dad.

The one other witch I knew, a girl a little older than me named Rachel who lives down the road, told me that her mum had to help her Muggle dad for years before he learned how to do most simple things, such riding a bicycle and baking a pie, and learning American Muggle customs like proper clothing and money. My dad adapted quickly, Siria says. He often holds barbeques with the local families; like, normal barbeques. He enjoys the idea of cooking with his own two hands. Dad only uses magic around the house for cleaning places out of reach and the occasional boggart, wards, and even he and I wear regular American Muggle clothes. Most things I don't even consider Muggle anymore, like clothes and words. It's normal now, pretending to be a Muggle and all. In America and Canada it's pretty normal for witches and wizards to lead relatively normal lives, although Dad told me that everywhere else in the world, the wizarding communities keep to themselves and many see Muggles as inferior. That's stupid. I know a lot of cool Muggles. It's not their fault they weren't born with magic.

I place the pewter silverware for two people on the small round table as Dad came back in, his KISS THE WIZARD apron stained with hamburger juice just for a minute before the stains shrunk and disappeared, leaving a crisp white behind. Andrew, Siria, and I had gotten the Self-Cleaning apron for Dad for Christmas one year after he expressed a significant desire to cook. Dad sets a hamburger on both our plates and I sit down, more than ready to eat. Dad grabs the ketchup bottle from the fridge before plopping in his own chair.

"This is good, Dad," I mumble through a mouthful of hamburger.

"Thank you, but Sil," my Dad mentions politely, "chew with your mouth closed, please."

I nod my apology and continue eating. When both of us are nearly finished, Dad clears his throat. "Sil, would you like to go to Diagon Alley with me? I have to fetch a couple things for your sister, and I think it would be nice for you to get out and maybe buy a book or two to prepare for your wizarding schooling." I wriggle in my chair.

"Oh Dad, I'd love to!" I squeal. I haven't seen Diagon Alley for a few years. It's a beautiful place, the center of the wizarding world. It holds the wizarding bank, Gringotts; Ollivander's wand shop; Flourish and Blotts (my personal favorite); and countless other well-known shops and stores to supply the witches and wizards of the world. I'm eager to go again and shop for my wizarding school things. Muggle elementary school is interesting enough, but I have to keep secret that I'm magical. It isn't all that hard, most of the kids in my grade are pretty dull or are busy with their own devices to ask me what my parents do or whatever. I have friends, don't get me wrong, but Dad tells me I have 'too big' of an imagination for the other kids to handle. I'm okay with that. I am just so excited to go to a place where I'm normal and I can fit in. To be honest, I want to tell everyone that someday I'll be able to do magic, but I know I can't. I feel like I'm going crazy sometimes, but I deal with it. I just keep reminding myself that soon I'll go to a school where everyone can do magic.

"Then," Dad adds softly, "I'd like to teach you a few spells. I know you cannot yet use a wand, but simply knowing about them can help you a great deal for when you can use a wand. I sense dark times approaching, my dear Sil; dark times. I want you to be prepared. I also want you to get a head start. Who knows when you'll need something far beyond what you learn in school…" He trails, then abruptly gets up from the table and takes both our plates.

His words send a shiver down my spine as I process them. For ages I have waited to learn the fantastic spells and charms that I've read about in books and seen my father and Andrew perform when he visits. Now, though, I'm a little scared of magic. Who nows whose out there to get me.

I nod in my dad's direction, acknowledging his words with a (slightly fake) smile, and he flashes one back. For a girl my age, almost eleven, this is super exciting. Today is going to be awesome, if I can forget the whole 'I might die' thing.

"Now," my father stands in front of me, stroking his wand over my hair. The dark brown fades to a honey blonde at the wand's touch, "you know the rules. You mustn't go wandering off on your own; it's dangerous to wander for any little girl."

"I'm not little!" I retort. I'm almost eleven!

"Hush. This is serious. If I see anyone who may recognize us, I will steer you away and you mustn't say a word. These glamour charms will keep for several hours, but if you think something happens, you tell me straight away. Got it?"

"Got it," I reply in earnest. Dad sidesteps and I am allowed to step up to the mirror. I straighten my charcoal-grey robes proudly, the color typical of a robe for a child my age. In the mirror I see me, but a different me. This new me has blonde hair and flashy blue eyes. Her hair is now stick-straight, contrary to the bouncy curls it usually has. I smile at my dad through the mirror. Dad has opted for some changes as well. His hair has changed from its usual matte black to shiny silver, his eyebrows the same color. Dad's eyes are no longer chocolate brown, but instead are dull hazel in color. His skin has changed from olive tan to pale; a stark contrast to me, since mine hasn't changed. Dad is a whole different person.

Dad and I walk down the stair without exchanging words. He grips my shoulders as we stand before our fireplace. "Are you ready, love?" I nod and he releases my shoulders, throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, making the flames roar and turn emerald green. The puny fireplace rises to Dad's height. "Come on now, Sil. You go first."

I stepped into the fireplace. "The Leaky Cauldron!" I nearly shout, inhaling a bit of ash. I try not to cough and screw up the Floo. I feel my body whirling around and around like a top, seemingly minutes on end, when suddenly I tumble through another fireplace, this time into the rather familiar surroundings of a greasy old tavern. A few heads look up lazily to look at me as I brush the soot off of my robes and hair. In a moment, my dad had entered in a whoosh of emerald flames, definitely more graceful than my entrance. Dad guides me by the small of my back to the back of the Leaky Cauldron, flipping a silver Sickle to the bartender, who catches it expertly. We walk through the exit and Dad taps the brick wall with his wand. The bricks flutter and move, creating the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Dad helps me pick out a few books at Flourish and Blotts, as well as some nice quills and ink that glows in the dark to fuel my sketching and writing habits. We arrive at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour after stopping at Gringotts to have a treat. I am halfway through my chocolate sundae when I spot two particularly showy people, largely contrasting with most of the crowd. The older one has magnificent, silky black robes and walks with a black cane; the head of which seems to take the form of a silver snake. His face was stern and his stride commanding respect. He has long, straight, almost unnaturally platinum-blond hair that flew over his shoulder in the breeze and piercing grey eyes. By his side is a boy who can't possibly be older than I am, sporting extremely similar features. His expensive-looking black robes are clasped with silver and he almost has to jog to keep up with the older man's strides. His shorter hair, which I assume must be quite nice, is nastily slicked back with a tremendous amount of gel. The constant sneer on his face makes him look like a prat.

My father touches my hand. "Silvera, don't stare."

I shake my head. "Sorry, dad, but who are they?"

Dad makes a huffing sound, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "That, Sil, is Lucius Malfoy and his son Draco. He's your age, I think. The Malfoys are a very rich pureblood family, much more so than our own. Mr. Malfoy married Narcissa Black, a relative of ours, and he is one of our greatest enemies. Had we not been disguised, Lucius would have taken us both down without a single word. Lucius was a Death Eater, back in the day. He has since come back to our side, but I don't quite believe it."

I raise my eyebrows. "That's… intense, Dad."

He nods, and smiles. "Intense indeed, dear."


	2. Kindred Spirits

It's mid-June now. We picked up Siria from the London Train Station not too long ago for the summer. I like when Siria is home. She tells me stories of the teachers and students, especially Fred and George Weasley, twin brothers who seem to be inclined on making the most mischief they possibly could. School is over for me, too, but I don't have any fun stories to tell Siria. Well, there's the one where Ms. Potts, my foul old rat of a teacher, decided to poke fun at my clothing at lunch one day. Dad had gotten me secondhand clothes to help me blend in better, but I had been extremely cold and I decided to wear my robe at lunch. It had been a bad idea, because Ms. Potts was the epitome of evil and sought to find something wrong with me, even though I continually had the highest grades in the entire class. I was very angry, and, as I could sense it coming, Ms. Potts conveniently slipped and spilled her hot tomato soup all over the front of her nasty Pepto-Bismol (a type of Muggle stomach remedy)-colored dress. I then told her how the red of the soup really brought out her eyes and I was sent to the principal's office. That was the last time Ms. Potts made fun of my clothes. When I told Siria this, she had fallen off my bed, crying in laughter. She said I'd fit right in with the Weasley twins. They sound like fun.

Today had been extremely boring. Siria insisted on keeping her door closed the entire day—with me on the outside. She told me sternly that she was busy writing letters to all her Hogwarts friends.

"Surely nobody can have that many friends!" I had yelled at her closed door. After a few minutes of frustrated groaning I left her alone. Dad found me putzing around the house, occasionally feeding his owl, Hera, with bits of leftover hamburger. He shaved me outside and made me tend to the sparkling midnight blue-and-purple Galaxy orchids in the garden that Andrew helped him plant in the spring. For hours I had to spread the mulch evenly around the pesky flowers' stalks and pull weeds out. Then Dad had made me throw out the garden gnomes; ugly little things they are.

After I was done with the yardwork, Dad dismissed me and I was free to scurry to my room. I chirped "inverto" to my little red radio, and it promptly turned on. I now sway my head a bit to Metallica's Master of Puppets while scratching a sketch with my quill. Andrew found this Muggle type of music while in Germany a couple years ago when he was sent to collect something for his job. He said they called this 'metal'. I quite like metal. I sketch and sketch until it's time for bed. The sketch resembles a large dragon with flames spilling out its snout. I roll the parchment up and crawl in my bed, ready for sleep.

I subconsciously hear muffled running steps and the creak of my door opening. Suddenly something heavy and giggly jumped on top of me. I screamed for dear life.

"Happy Birthday, nutball!" Siria yelled eagerly, making my still-sleeping ears protest.

"It's my birthday?" I ask quietly. I completely forgot. I turned eleven today!

"Yes, you turd," Siria continues. "Get up so we can do stuff!"

"It's my birthday," I groan loudly. I struggle against her. "Lemme sleep."

"No way!"

More struggling.

"FINE." I say, giving in. I felt Siria jump off my bed and run into the hall, skipping. I decide to get dressed, since Siria will have my head if I'm not down in adequate time. As playful as she is at home, she still has a very controlling and stubborn nature. Dad says Siria and I both get our stubbornness from Mum. I pick out a pair of jeans and snag a black shirt with an owl on it off a closet hanger. I slide on my soft bunny slippers and plop down the stairs to the living room. Sitting on the floor are numerous shiny packages of all shapes and sizes. Dad sits in his favorite armchair near the fireplace, reading the Daily Prophet. He slides his rounded readers down on his nose, looking at me with twinkling eyes.

"Happy birthday, Sil," he says in his usual soft voice.

"Thanks Dad," I reply. "Who're all these from?"

"Oh, friends and family. Me, your sister and brother, your grandfather Charles, your friend Rachel, Mr. Coughlin, Missy, Mr. Shaklebolt, and a couple other friends from the Office." Dad smiles again.

Dad brings me to the Auror office every once in a while. I met a lot of really nice Aurors there last time. Missy is the Auror office secretary. She's really nice, too.

"Really? They sent these for me?" I ask in disbelief.

Dad chuckles. "Why, but of course! Go on, open them!"

"Wait, Dad," I say. "Siria probably wants to be down here too."

"Siria May!" Dad shouts from his chair. I hear tumbling from the staircase and Siria whizzes into the room a second later. She sits down on the floor a few feet away from me and watches me intently.

"Well go on, then!" Siria whispers hurriedly. I nod and begin opening. The first gift, a little square box wrapped in gleaming red foil, holds a silvery string. I scoop it into my palm.

"What's this?" I ask curiously.

"That, my dear, is an Invisibility String. Your grandfather found it in Knockturn Alley many years ago. It's similar to an Invisibility Cloak, but you needn't worry about covering yourself up. They made a lot of them, hundreds of years ago, but they were so small that people'd lose them. The Cloak became more popular. Now the Strings are nearly priceless. Take very good care of it, okay? Your grandfather though it was wise for me to pass this on to you, in case we find trouble."

I soak in his words. "Yes Dad," I reply finally. "Thank you." I crawl to his armchair and give him a huge hug.

"Open this one!" Siria says excitedly, holding a wonderful-looking silver package. I open it, and resting on a bed of newspaper sits a very soft-looking black wool cap. Examining it, I find it has flaps for over my ears and a little white tuft at the top. In the center is a neat, white Metallica 'M'. It is, indeed, very soft and warm. I stick it on my head.

"I made it myself," Siria smiles proudly. "A girl in my dormitory taught me how to knit during school. Do you like it?"

"Do I? Siri, I love it!" I hug her tightly. "It's perfect."

I unwrap the rest of my presents. I receive a gorgeous eagle feather quill from Andrew, an assortment of candy from a candy store near Hogwarts again from Siria, ink that disappeared whenever someone over 30 looked at it ("Perfect for passing notes in class, your teachers can't do a thing!" the note said) from Mr. Coughlin, a small bottle of French perfume from Rachel and her mum, some homemade fudge and a book about magical creatures from Missy, and a new wizard's chess set from the rest of the office, including the Head Auror. I sit nibbling on a Licorice Wand amidst my numerous gifts when Dad speaks.

"Sil, I have something in the back I'd like to show you."

Excited, I trail him out the screen door in silence. We come upon our shed and Dad tells me to wait a moment, and to close my eyes. I do as he asks, and when he tells me to open my eyes, my gaze rests upon something wonderful. My dad holds in his hands the most beautiful broomstick I have ever seen I my life. I gasp.

"I thought you'd like it," Dad says with a smile. "A friend of mine used to make custom brooms, before the Cleansweeps, Comets, and Nimbuses nearly put him out of business. I did him a favor once. He wanted to make something special for you." He extends his arms towards me, inviting me to take the magnificent broom. I stroke it gently.

"This was made just for you. Inside the ebony is a hippogriff feather, to give the broom an unexpected boost in speed and agility. Take good care of it also." I was in shock. It was all mine, my very own broom!

"I will Dad, I will!" I squeal in glee.

"Now, this is how you ride a broom. You stand beside it, and say 'up!'."

"Up!" I said after taking root on the left side of the broom. After a moment's hesitation, the broom flew like a magnet into my hand.

"Well done, Sil!" Dad cries out proudly. He goes on to teach me to hold, and then, actually flying. I fly for what seems like hours. I had been on a broom before, but I sat behind Dad. The glee I feel from the rushing wind and blur of grass is indescribable. After a while, Dad returned inside and left me to my own devices. I circle and dive a bit, making myself dizzy, when…

"Silvera, owl for you!" I hear Siria shout from the door. I slide rather roughly off the broom in shock and excitement. Have I heard correctly?

I dash inside. A large barn owl, looking rather tired, sits on the counter with a letter in its beak. I snatch the letter and offered a bit of Licorice Wand to the owl, who takes it happily.

The address is written in neat, green ink:

Miss S. Black

Second Bedroom

2551 Mallory Lane, Asheville

North Carolina, United States

On the back is a green seal with the letter H on it.


	3. The Meeting

I break open the seal on the crisp envelope carefully. The envelope is fat, holding several sheets of paper.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY," it begins in a beautiful red script.

"Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc….)" It continues to name the titles of the Headmaster. Below, it read,

Dear Miss Black,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Please see the included parchment concerning your location and the proper Exchange Student procedure.

Yours Sincerely,

(in a flourishing swish, a female signature)

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I drop the letter in shock and I shriek. I have been accepted into one of the best wizarding schools in the world! Sure, there are plenty of schools here in America, but none of them have the age or caliber of Hogwarts. I assume it's because I have a sibling there, and that we used to live in England. Hearing my noise, I hear Siria thunder down the stairs. Before she can say anything, however, I whisper, 'Hogwarts." She screams as well. She grabs me around the waist and we both jump up and down, chattering shrilly. Dad emerges from his den, confused.

"What's the fuss?" Dad asks.

"Hogwarts!" We both scream together, too excited to say anything else.

"Well done, Sil!" Dad says, embracing the both of us. "Let's see what you have here," he picks up the discarded envelope's contents off the floor. "The usual books, yes… Oh, Flourish and Blotts had that on special price last week…. Cauldron, robes, telescope—I have a nice crystal-lensed one you can have—scales, wand, quills…" The list is quite long, even with Dad's abbreviations. No matter. I'm going to Hogwarts!

Dad still muttering over the list, I snatch a separate page from his hand. I was taken surprise by the title. "Foreign Exchange?" I ask, bewildered. "What's this for?"

Dad adjusts his readers and looks over my shoulder. "Seems like there are guidelines now for students from other countries."

It reads:

Dear Miss Black,

As a new student from a foreign country, your first year at Hogwarts will be similar to that of a Foreign Exchange Student, called a Shadow. We have selected a student from the pure- and Half-blood families at random that you will spend a good deal of time with, with the exception of classes, studying, and nighttime. You will spend this time learning the culture and customs of the European wizarding community, as well as teaching the student you are Shadowing about your own culture. We hope that this way you will receive the best education possible as you adjust, as well as building relationships with your fellow peers.

You will be Shadowing: DRACO MALFOY

All the Best,

M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

My eyes widen. Shadowing? I know enough about wizarding life. Adjust, my butt. Dad looks surprised as well, but more shocked.

"I, can't believe," he starts.

"What's wrong?" Siria asks.

"We need to have a meeting with Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall."

Dad checks me over to see if I look satisfactory. I wear a short white dress and black leggings, typical Muggle clothing.

"You look cute," Dad mentions, smiling in my direction. I smile back. I am ready for the meeting with the higher-ups at Hogwarts. For what, Dad refused to tell me. It must be extremely serious for him to call a meeting, though. We travel downstairs, Dad wrings his hands and I chew my lip anxiously. I don't know what to expect. Am I to be expelled before I even start? Dad and I sit on the blue couch in the living room, waiting expectantly for the Headmaster to Floo into our hearth. Fifteen minutes of silence pass until the embers in our fireplace roar up into emerald flame and a wizened old man appears, spinning round and round. The man ducks and walks out of the fireplace, dusting his ornate silvery robes of soot with a smile on his face.

"Ah, Caspar, how good to see you!" The man, who I assume to be Professor Dumbledore, embraces my father kindly. Dad exchanges similar pleasantries with him.

"You must be Silvera," Dumbledore had turned towards me. He kneels before me and looks into my eyes. "You are quite grown up now, Silvera. You were just a little tyke when I last saw you." He touches my cheek lightly with wizened fingers and grinned, a twinkle in his eyes.

The fire roars once more and out steps a severe-looking woman in black robes. Her hair is tied back in a severe knot and her dull green eyes are very businesslike. She removes her black pointed hat and bows slightly to Dad, who does the same.

"I'm Professor McGonagall," she says in a thin Scottish accent. "How do you do, Mr. Crouch?"

"I am well, thank you, Professor," Dad returns. "I trust you are well also?" She merely nods.

"To business, now." McGonagall takes a seat next to Dumbledore on the couch opposite Dad and me.

"Yes, to business. You said it was urgent in your owl, Caspar," Dumbledore mentions. His long fingers lace together on his lap. I sit perfectly still like I was told.

"Yes indeed, Albus. You see, I am not sure if Silvera can attend Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall looks a bit taken aback. "Not attend? But Hogwarts is just about the best school in the world, you aren't—" She wasn't able to finish.

"Professor, I can't let my daughter go somewhere where she might be found out. You see, when a Death Eater murdered my wife, the only way we could separate ourselves from the Black family and the rest of the Death Eaters was to move here; to America. I can't have her cover blown. Even when we travel to London to see Siria onto the Hogwarts Express, we change our appearances. I can't lose my family, Albus, you have to see this."

"Why did you let Siria attend Hogwarts, then?" Dumbledore asks, curiosity piqued.

"There is a lesser chance of her being found. She convinced her classmates that Crouch is a common American Muggle name, and she bears no distinct resemblance to her mother or me. Silvera, however, looks exactly like her mother, and has taken her last name, no less."

"It seems, though," Professor McGonagall pipes up, "that Silvera can do just as Siria did, could she not?"

"She might let something slip to the boy she is shadowing this year," Dad continues, as if he has written an entire speech. "The Black family is closely tied to the Malfoy family. She could be endangered if the boy tells."

McGonagall looks at Dad if he were stupid. "Mr. Crouch…"

"Caspar, thank you."

"Well then, Caspar, it will be sort of difficult to revoke the Shadowing privilege. Draco has already received his letter concerning it, and he won't let it go without a fight. But, if it is that big of a deal, I could manage it…"

"No!" I finally find my voice, and I am surprised at my outburst, as are the adults. They must have forgotten I was present, except for Professor Dumbledore, who would look at me from time to time and grace me with a smile. Dad scolds me.

"No, I want to see what the rest of my family is like, even if he's my third-cousin-once-removed or whatever he is. Please, I'll do a good job at hiding, I know I can. Just let me try, please. I haven't seen anyone outside my own family in years, 'cept for Grandpa, he came at Christmas. I just want to meet my family." I pant slightly, bracing myself for yelling. Instead, I am met with a soft, humor-filled voice.

"You know, Caspar, you've got a right smart little girl there. I think she's mature enough to cover her identity, with her teachers' help, of course." Professor Dumbledore grinned.

"Please, Dad?" I plead with all of my charm. Dad sighs heavily.

"You have to promise me you'll be safe."

"With all my heart, Dad." I cross an X over my chest with my index finger.

Dumbledore's smile never left his face. I know I will enjoy having him as my Headmaster.

And who knew, I was going to meet Draco Malfoy and go to Hogwarts.


	4. Get Ready

"Now Silvera," Professor McGonagall prods, "you do need a background."

I tilt my head. "Hmm?"

"A fake past, Silvera," McGonagall's thin voice is kind.

"Well," I start, silently urging my creative juices to start flowing. "I like the last name Brady, that could work. I'll be a Muggle-born. I could still have a mum..." I trail off, my eyes becoming entranced with the henna on my wrist. My friend Cami did it; vines with leaves and the occasional flower. I feel a light touch on my shoulder that I assume to come from Professor Dumbledore.

"Are you sure you're up for that, Silvera?" Dumbledore's voice rumbles softly. I nod.

"I have to. It'll be too suspicious if I don't."

"That's my girl," Dad says. Dad values courage; he says I would be a great Gryffindor.

I shudder."I'm nervous. What if I mess up my story?"

Dumbledore smiles. "You'll do just fine, missy. Don't you worry about it."

Professor McGonagall clears her throat authoritatively. "Headmaster, we have an appointment with the school board in ten minutes. We should go."

Dumbledore nods. "Indeed we shall." He stands. "Good day to you, Caspar," he ruffles my hair, "and to you, Miss Silvera."

"Have a nice day, Professors," Dad stands and waves goodbye and I stand behind my dad, watching the flames roar emerald and the bodies twirl into nothingness.

Dad immediately pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign I knew well; the look of stress.

"I don't know if you should go..." He starts, knowing if he looks at me, he would find only stubbornness.

"I'm going to Hogwarts, and that's final." I storm out, swiping the screen door more violently than normal. Usually I am not that rude to my elders, but this is something I am very passionate about. I go through the wooden gate separating our yard from the marsh and head to the Marshall's. Mr and Mrs. Marshall are a very nice, old couple that live down the road with their daughter, Marlene. Marlene has horses, and she taught me to ride when I was six. I guess she needed something to do in her spare time, but I loved it. I reach the lean-to in no time. Two horses live inside; Hartley and Blake. Hartley is 20 and used to be some fancy Grand Prix horse or something. Blake is Marlene's cart horse; I learned to ride on him.

I pat both of their noses before entering Hartley's stall with his equipment. Marlene lets me exercise him when she's gone, which is a lot. I complete his grooming and tack and start at a walk in the outside arena, which is currently overgrown with grass. Hartley makes several grabs at the grass, but I tug on his bit. Whenever I get mad at Dad or Siria or someone at school, I often come here right after school and ride Hartley. Although I'm magic, it still fascinates me how an animal can connect to a person like a wand does.

As we fly along, going over a jump or two, I feel my worries slip away into the wind. After awhile, Hartley is huffing and I decide to end for today. I feel better anyway. I thank the horse for his time, as it is custom for me to do so, and I trot back down the road towards my house, feeling much more lighthearted than I have in the past couple hours.

~One month later~

I hurriedly tug a brush through my unruly, bedmussed hair. I am both nervous and excited at the same time. Today, today was the day that I get to meet my [i]really[/i] extended family. I really don't know what to expect; I mean, I hope Britain isn't radically different from America. I decide to let Siria help with my appearance, even though I don't really want it. Siria spends at least an hour in the bathroom every day, Merlin knows what she does in there. Well, she always looks pretty, which would be acceptable if she was seeing people every day.

"The Malfoys are SO rich, Sil," Siria says dramatically as she applies light makeup to my face, "You can't even comprehend how rich they are. I heard that Draco wears silk boxers, and he's only 11 like you..."

"Eww, awkward!" I shriek. I'm wonderful with people, but I'm still in the stage where boys have cooties. I am thoroughly confused as to why someone would spend money on that.

"Why would someone have silk underwear? Nobody's gonna see it,"

"Ugh, Sil, you are so innocent! When you get older you'll understand, I hope." Siria groans.

"Open your eyes, sis."

I open my eyes. My face looks much different from when she started. The scars on the side of my face from an extremely angry owl were invisible. You can see the little gold flecks in my eyes, thanks to the brown eyeliner Siria had put on my eyelid. My hair was in a pretty knot at the back of my head in consideration of the heat. Although it looks pretty, I almost groan at the notion of doing this every day.

"You look darling, Sil!" My sister gushes. "Dad, Sil's ready!" She hands me a black band sweatshirt in case I get cold. I wear a mid-thigh length black skirt, tall black boots, and a white tank top, all courtesy to Siria.

"My my, little Silvera is all grown up!" Dad had entered the room quite silently. He smiles.

"Sil, we're going to have to dye your hair, the Muggle way."

I nod. "Alright, that sounds fun. What color can I do?"

"Any color you want, my dear. For your excursion today, though, I have to use a glamour charm."

"Okay, Dad," I say, chipper. Dad has never let me dye my hair; he says I'm too young. Dad waves his wand over my hair and I watch as it goes from brown to a pretty blonde.

I stand before the fireplace, nervous. Dad hugs me tightly. When he lets go, he holds out his hand. He is holding $1500 in American Muggle money and a small leather pouch. I've never held so much money in my life.

"For your Galleons, just in case," Dad mutters.

"Don't I have to convert it to pounds?" I ask quizzically.

"You're from America, you can exchange them at Gringotts." Siria points out.

"Now remember, Silvera, you must act like you know nothing of magic." Dad says.

I sigh.

This will be fun.


	5. The Pretender

I toss the sparkling Floo powder into our fireplace and step into the green flames.

"The Leaky Cauldron! " I shout, soot stinking my eyes. I begin to spin like a top and I have to keep from screaming. Seconds later I am shot out of a fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. I take some time to regain my balance and cough. A few of the sketchy members of the bar glance at me for a second, then go back to their business. People Flooing in was not unheard of.

I check my watch. I had five minutes. No time for a butterbeer today. I walk nervously to the back of the bar. _My name is Silvera Brady,_ I think. _I am a muggleborn. I know nothing of magic._

I say this over and over to myself, almost running into cases of firewhiskey. I opened the back door and ran _smack_ into none other than Lucius Malfoy.

"I'm sorry, sir," I fumble.

"No worries, young one. I'm assuming you're Draco's Shadow?" Lucius asked in a silky voice.

I nod nervously.

"Yes sir."

Lucius slips behind me and guides me to the brick wall that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. Draco stands there, and I feel a pair of silver eyes bore into my head.

"Good morning," I say pleasantly to Draco and I stick out my hand. "I'm Silvera Brady."

"Pleasure," he responds, although from his tone I assume he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Draco Malfoy." He shakes my hand mechanically.

"So you're American, then," Draco continues.

"Yeah," I answer.

"Then why do you sound like us?" He asks.

"My mum and dad are British," I reply.

"Draco," Lucius says, "Let us not waste time. We have many errands that need to be run." Lucius taps the bricks with his wand and the wall instantly transforms into an arch.

Once we are inside Diagon Alley, I allow my eyes to roam. I have seen it quite a few times, but it has always been an enchanting place.

"Say, where did you get that Floo powder? I thought you were a Muggle," Draco says.

"Draco," Lucius warns.

"Professor McGonagall gave it to me," I say. "I went through my aunt's fireplace. She's a witch."

It is quiet for awhile as we weaved through the thick crowd of witches and wizards.

"Draco, would you run to Gringotts for me? Withdraw enough Galleons for yourself to last the year, and get four bars of [i]mithril[/i] for me out of the vault. I'm sure Miss Brady has her own money to exchange. I need to visit someone in Knockturn Alley, please meet me at Flourish and Blotts in one half hour."

"Yes, sir," comes Draco's reply. "Come on, Brady."

I follow the slicked-back platinum-blonde hair through the crowds. At the doors of the wizarding bank, Draco stops.

"Got any Galleons?" He asks.

"No," I answer. "I have American dollars."

"That'll do," he huffs and steps inside. I make a beeline for a goblin sitting behind a golden countertop, weighing a large pile of glimmering sapphires on brass scales.

"Excuse me sir, can you tell me where I can exchange dollars for Galleons?" I try to be polite, for goblins can be easily annoyed. With one glance over his half-moon spectacles, he points a little ways down the opposite counter and goes back to examining a rather large blue stone. Draco trails behind me as I make my way to the other end of the room. Finally he grabs my shoulder roughly.

"Isn't this scary to you or anything?" He asks, baffled.

I shake my head. "No, not really."

"Aren't you gonna ask what they are?"

"No, do you want me to?" I stick my chin up a little bit in a sassy sort of way.

Draco grumbles and I begin walking again towards the goblin at the end while Draco waits, surprised at my audacity.

I exchange my money, earning 148 Galleons, 16 Sickles, and 8 Knuts. It is too much, but I will make sure to give the rest to Dad when I get home for summer vacation. I join Draco, who is presently at the front desk, conversing with a goblin. Draco gives the goblin a silver key, who gives it to another goblin. That goblin, Kenok, leads us down a hall to the vaults, I assume. We get into a rickety-looking minecart, Draco making an effort not to touch or look at me. The cart shoots forward with unimaginable speed. Soon, though, the cart screeches to a halt. We climb out and Kenok twists the silver key in the lock. The vault opens with a rush of stale air. Draco enters and scoops handfuls of shiny Galleons and Sickles into a silver pouch and I make no move to join him. What really entrances me was the beautiful white-silver bars stacked in the very back. Even in the dim light of the torches the bars radiate light, as if they were infused with magic. The bars are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Draco, once finished with his money bag, moves near the bars. He pulls another sack from his robe and lifts four of the heavy-looking bars into the bag with ease.

"Come on, Brady, stop gaping," Draco scoffs as he brushes past me. _Is he mad at me? Why is he mad?_ I wonder.

"What are those bars?" I ask curiously.

"They're _mithril_, an extremely rare type of silver mined by Dwarves only in the mines of Moria in Middle Earth. Mithril is light as a feather, but stronger than the strongest steel."

I am curious about Moria but I don't ask any more questions, and 30 seconds later and we are shooting back to the bank like a roller coaster. I love roller coasters, but Draco looks a little green when we exit.

We meet Lucius at Flourish and Blotts with time to spare, so I take my sweet time looking around the beautiful store. Draco hasn't spoken to me since we exited Gringotts. I have several hand-me-down school books, courtesy of Siria, so I only had to buy a few. I also bought _Hogwarts: A History_ because I could, as well as a fun-looking book of useful spells, such as glamour charms and ones that help you see in the dark. Once I am done browsing and Draco pays for his books, we meet Lucius outside. He suggests we go to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks for our writing supplies. I splurge a little by buying a few expensive quills, some nice ink, and a falcon feather quill with gold etching that would constantly weave itself in different patterns all around the feather. I giggle as I nonchalantly switch a bottle of Draco's ink with a kind that would turn sparkly neon pink after a few hours when writing a paper. We both buy a good amount of parchment, but I buy more to supply my drawing habits.

We then pass Eeylops' Owl Emporium where Draco is on the verge of begging Lucius for a new screech owl, to which Lucius promptly says no, telling him he has a perfectly good eagle owl at home. Dad recommended I get an owl, so after a minute of searching I find a handsome barn owl I knew I had to have. I decide to name him Oliver during the walk to Madame Malkin's.

Upon entering the robe shop, I am whisked away to get fitted by a helper, while Draco pouts that he will only let Madame Malkin herself fit his robes. I get the number of robes required by the school and then go to browse the Hogwarts uniform department. I check out and am about to head over to Draco, but stop when I see him having a conversation with a wiry boy with wild black hair, green eyes, and glasses that looked like they had been broken too many times. I could tell Draco was being rude to him and that the other boy looked embarrassed. I hear a little bit of the conversation: the black-haired boy's parents were dead, and Draco made a big fuss about whether or not they were wizards. He must be very prejudiced about blood. Maybe that's why he was being so rude. Draco thought he was _better_ than me...

"Come on, Brady," Draco calls impatiently. I hurry after the two platinum-blond heads out into the street.

I plop down on my bed after Flooing back home. Although it is only five-thirty, I am dog-tired. My packages are strewn across my floor and Oliver is hooting quietly in his cage. I am almost to sleep when Siria knocks.

"Come in," I say.

"Hey, how're you doing?" Siria asks, picking her path carefully amidst the packages. "Aww, he's so cute," she coos upon seeing my owl.

"I'm okay, that's Oliver."

Siria grins. "Hi Oliver, want a treat?" Siria's owl, Queenie, was very fond of treats, so she always had a couple in her pocket. Oliver devours the treat with a grateful hoot.

"So, how'd it go?" She asks, jumping on my bed.

"It was pretty cool. I'm excited to go to Hogwarts now."

"How was Draco?"

"He's a rich jerk," I say plainly, too tired to explain further.

"Well, now I know I wasn't wrong!"

We giggle. "Let me see your wand," Siria prods excitedly. I open the thin package and pull out my wand.

"Heather, 12 1/2 inches, supple, dragon heartstring core," I recite. "It's the only wand Ollivander has ever made with heather."

Siria's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, you must be special, little sis."

Siria puts in a Pearl Jam CD into my player while I sketch the beginnings of yet another dragon on a piece of parchment.


	6. More Practice

_July 30, 2:37 am_

I let out a frustrated scream and sullenly flop on my floor. Today is the day I travel to London so I can go to Hogwarts. I have to get organized so Dad can shrink my things to fit in a backpack. We'll buy a trunk there. At present I cannot find my favorite drawing quill. My room is a disaster from my searches and I am near quitting.

"**Dad!**" I shout. Dad appears with a _CRACK _into my room.

"Sil! You're going to wake up the entire neighborhood with that volume! What do you need?" Dad rubs his eyes sleepily.

"Can you shrink my things?"

"What do you say?"

"_Please?_"

Dad smiles. "Very good. My my, quite the mess you've made." I shove my dad playfully.

Siria bursts into my room. "Has anyone seen my wand?!" She shrieks. Oliver hoots and flutters in his cage.

Dad sighs. "Accio Siria's wand!" he commands, and the ivory-colored wand comes whizzing through the door and into his outstretched hand. Siria thanks Dad quickly and darts out of the room with the wand. Dad proceeds to shrink the multitude of items and I shovel them into my backpack.

"What about our wands, Dad? Won't airport security take them away?"

"We have to tape them to the inside of our legs. Sorry Sil. You know my rules."

"Yeah. 'Keep your wand with you at all times'." I recite.

Dad unlocked Oliver's cage and the barn owl flew around the room, hooting happily.

"I have to transfigure Oliver into a cat."

I shrug. "Okay, Dad."

Oliver turned into a fluffy orange tabby and the cage became an animal carrier.

A few minutes later Siria and I have our backpacks and our owls, er, cats. Siria and I both put on sweatpants to hide our wands, and Dad helps us wrap Spellotape around our wands on one of our thighs.

"This feels weird," Siria complains.

"Shut up Siria," I grumble.

"Here's your breakfasts, girls," Dad said, more chipper after a cup of coffee. He hands us toaster waffles with peanut butter and banana slices. "Get in the car, you two."

My yawns are almost constant by the time Dad pulls his '67 Chevy Impala into the airport parking lot. Our flight to London is in two hours. We come early to go through Customs and things. I almost wish we could just Apparate.

My dreams focus on Hogwarts and performing magic for hours as we fly across the ocean. I perform a spell that makes birds fly into the air, but suddenly I am whisked into another part of my dream. I lay in a bed covered in velvet, and a man that looks awfully like an older version of Draco Malfoy leans over me.

_"You're mine now, Silvera. All mine..."_

I see a flash of red in his silver eyes and I wake up with a start. What did that all mean? To forget my confusion, I sip Dad's coffee and ask him to expand a book. Our wands are no longer taped to our legs, there is no need to now. I begin to read the now-normal sized book, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_. It is very interesting, and I am anxious to finally practice spells on my own.

"Alohomora," I whisper, waving my finger like a wand. "Alohomora, alohomora, alohomora."

We spent July 31st in Downtown London, which is very different from any town I've ever seen. Big Ben was impressive, but I was captivated by Buckingham Palace. I read an article from a local wizarding newspaper that the Queen is a witch, but Dad said it wasn't true. Today is September First, Hogwarts Day. It is overcast and rainy, but based on what I know for the UK, this is pretty typical weather.

"Girls, do you have everything ready?" Dad asks as he comes back into our hotel room with bagels.

"Yeah," we chirp simultaneously. Siria has been in the shower for a half an hour. Any reasonable person would have been done by now, in my opinion. I knock until my knuckles ache for four minutes before Siria finally exits.

Before we get out of the rental car, Dad puts glamour charms on himself and I. Siria begs and begs and finally Dad caves and dyes her hair a light purple for the day. My hair is Muggle-dyed a dark auburn, but my eyes keep the same chocolate hue.

"Girls, this will be very hard for you, Sil especially." Dad says quietly. "I need you two to pretend not to know each other for now, okay?"

Siria whimpers and I pat her shoulder from the back seat. "We can do it," I say.

"Good girls."

We help Siria pile her things onto a trolley and she trots off after hugging both of us, a newly re-transfigured Queenie hooting loudly.

"I can't go in there with you, Sil. I'm really sorry. You'll do just fine."

"That's okay, Dad," I reply with a smile.

"Just run at the wall between Platforms 9 and 10, okay? It'll make you less nervous." I nod vigorously.

"Be careful, Sil."

"I promise, Dad."

"I love you, Silvera." He pulls me into a tight hug.

"I love you too, Dad."

I run through the brick wall with my eyes shut. When I hear voices I stop, and realize I am in a crowd of chattering people. Standing in front of me is a magnificent scarlet train, the words _Hogwarts Express_ shone on the side of the engine in gold. I look around. Families are saying their goodbyes and children are chasing cats in between peoples' legs. Fathers slap their sons proudly on the back and mothers are crying and embracing their children. After moments of staring, I see Lucius Malfoy approaching me. I turn to face him and am surprised to see a woman with him, as well as Draco. The woman's face says brave, but her eyes yell fear. She wore all black and her blonde-and-brown hair is tied up in a severe knot. Lucius' hand was gripping her wrist.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," I greet Lucius politely.

"Miss Brady," Lucius drawled. "This is my wife, Narcissa. Cissy, this is Silvera Brady, Draco's Shadow for the year."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," I smile up at her.

"And you dear," she replied, a small smile graces her face.

Narcissa tugs her arm from Lucius' grip and throws her arms around her son, who meets her embrace with a scowl. She whispers something to him and he knits his eyebrows, deep in thought.

The whistle on the train blares at that moment, and Narcissa lets Draco go. She tucks her arm under her husband's and she guides them both through the brick wall.

"Come on, Brady, are you stupid? The train's leaving." Draco sneered at me.

I follow him silently and we give our trunks to a homely-looking man in a conductor's outfit.

As we pass through the train, I see the dark-haired boy with broken glasses sitting in a compartment with a red-haired boy holding a fat rat.

"You can sit with us, I guess," Draco shrugs his shoulders.

"Okay," I say, lightening up a little.

We walk into one of the last cars. It already contains three kids. Draco sits next to a pug-faced girl with black hair, so I wisely choose to sit on the side with two boys, both of which looked like they could cut down on the Pumpkin Pasties. They scoot down so I have enough room to sit, and I sit on the seat with my backpack on my lap.

The pug-faced girl begins cooing and fawning over Draco as soon as he sits down.

"Brady, this is Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Guys, this is Brady, she's my Shadow."

I wave nicely, but I get no response.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco strike up a conversation about a recent Quidditch game. I ache to join in, but I remember who I am now. Muggle girls do not know about Quidditch. I am silent for about an hour, listening to Quidditch. Pansy switches to the other side of Draco.

"Pansy Parkington," she greets me with a hand. I shake it gratefully.

"Silvera Brady, but everyone seems to just call me Brady." Pansy giggles.

"So what House do you think you'll be sorted into? I hope Slytherin, it's the best House. I think I'll be Sorted there."

Draco breaks from his discussion. "Pansy," he drawls arrogantly. "She's a Mudbl- Muggleborn. She doesn't know."

I pipe up, immediately regretting my decision. "I wouldn't mind being put in Ravenclaw, but they're a bunch of pricks, Slytherin sounds good too. I would die if I ended up in Hufflepuff!" I laugh a little, but I stop when I see their confused faces.

"Er, my aunt told me. She went to Hogwarts."

Draco shrugged and continued to talk about a big save the Falmouth Falcons Seeker made.

_Nice going, Silvera_, a voice sneered at me in my head. _Gee, you almost blew it! You haven't even started at Hogwarts yet_.

I decided to shut up for awhile.


	7. Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

*Draco's POV*

I simply can't _believe_ that Dumbledore and that McGonagall woman had the _audacity_ to pair me up with a Mudblood for that stupid Shadow program! In the letter that Dumbledore sent, he said that the lot was completely random, but I don't believe it. Father told me that, back in the day, it was a huge honor to get a Shadow. Normally I wouldn't mind, but this girl is a _Mudblood_. Totally unworthy. She is smart, I will give her that, and she learns fast, but never in a second should she believe she is better than me at anything. I am a pureblood, so I am quite obviously better. Mother wanted to send me to Durmstrang, but I wanted to follow in Father's footsteps as a Slytherin.

Today is the day I travel to Hogwarts and spend my precious time entertaining that girl Brady. No looking forward to it. Silv-, er, Brady will probably end up being irritating and clingy once she's done being polite and sweet. I mean, I already have to deal with Pansy Parkington. Father wishes us to be married, Pansy and I, although I'm not entirely positive why he decided to tell me that when I was eight years old. I like Pansy enough, but she's irritating and not exactly breathtakingly beautiful. She has become steadily more clingy after she was told that she and I are basically betrothed.

This morning is really stressful and hectic. Mother is making sure I have everything I need packed every ten minutes and Father made sure I knew how to act when around other kids. As happy as I am to leave this wretched mansion and get away from Father, I will miss Mother. I won't tell her, though, because she'll get all emotional. I am afraid to leave Mother alone here because sometimes Father beats her. Usually it's for something like not having dinner prepared on time or the house not being perfect when guests come, although that is the house elves' fault. Sometimes it's just because he can. Some nights I'll wake up to the sound of her crying. Father beats me too, but he makes me believe I deserve it when he does.

"The only way to make sure a woman is faithful to you is to assert your dominance over her. Remember that, Draco. Women always lie."

I assume this is how he keeps Mother in check. I am reluctant to leave her here, but she'll be fine. I care for her, but, after all, she is only a woman.

Father, Mother, and I Floo to one of Father's business partners' flats in London. The Hogwarts Express leaves at 11:00 sharp, so Father makes sure we have enough time.

"Run at the wall there, Draco," Mother coos, pointing at the solid-looking brick wall between Platforms 9 and 10.

I glare at Father. "Is she mad?"

"Do as your mother says, Draco," Father says sharply. I swallow hard and push my laden trolley towards the brick. Everything is black for a moment, but I reemerge in a tunnel full of bustling people and a regal crimson steam engine. Father and Mother appear behind me, Father gripping Mother's arm harshly.

"There is your Shadow, Draco," Father drones in my ear. My eyes rest on the Muggleborn girl with reluctance. We head toward her, but I trail behind.

"She looks lovely," Mother muses.

"She's a Muggleborn, Narcissa." Father snaps. "Do not glorify her." Mother falls silent.

I trot to keep up with Father's long strides, swiping a piece of my slicked-back hair back out of my eyes.

"Miss Brady," Father greets the girl.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she returns.

Father introduces Mother to Brady and I can tell Mother is captivated. At least the girl has manners. I'm disgusted by her.

We board the train in silence, which I am fine with. I lead the way to the cabin I told Crabbe and Goyle to save. Pansy is there too. Unfortunately, the letter from Dumbledore said she has to sit with me.

I enter the car as airily as possible. I sit beside Pansy, who is facing Crabbe and Goyle.

"Hello, Draco," Pansy squeaks in what I assume is a flirtatious tone. I groan inwardly as I nod to my henchmen, who also have voiced their greetings. I sigh.

"Brady, this is Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Guys, this is Brady. She's my Shadow for the year." I spit out Brady's name like ice.

"Oh!" Pansy squawks. "The Shadow program really _does_ exist! How exciting!"

Goyle turns his head to Brady.

"Where you from?" He asks. I see Brady about to answer, so I spoke for her.

"Brady's from America. Right, Brady?" The girl nods in embarrassment. She seems to shrink. _She's learning her place_, my inner voice whispers, and I smirk.

"Brady, sit by Crabbe. Crabbe, move over." Crabbe obeys and Brady sits daintily on the edge of the seat, her backpack on her lap. I drape my arm over Pansy's shoulder and begin to discuss the most recent Quidditch match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Montrose Magpies. Meanwhile, I steal glances at Brady, who sits quietly for a long time. Pansy eventually goes to talk to her, Pansy blabbing about what House she'll be sorted in. I reprimand Pansy, telling her that Brady is a Mudblood. Brady says she'd like to be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. After that, she was quiet.

Eventually, Brady rifles through her backpack and pulls out a strange black box with thin grey cords attached to it. Brady slides another flat grey box into the bigger black box. She calmly sits the ends of the cords into her ears. By this time, the cab is silent, everyone watching the Mudblood.

"Merlin's pants, Brady, what _is_ that thing?" Pansy exclaims.

"It's called a Walkman," Brady explains quietly, removing a cord from her ear. "It plays music through these little cords, see?" Brady pushes a button and hands the cord to Pansy, who imitates her. Pansy's face lights up.

"Wow, Brady, that's really cool!" She says.

"How does it work?" Crabbe asks.

"Well," she begins, "You put this thing"-she pulls another grey box from her backpack-"into the Walkman. It's called a cassette. It has music in it. When it's put into the Walkman, it spins and plays the music."

Although it is Muggle tech, I am curious. "Can I see that?" I motion to the cassette.

Brady grins. "Yeah, sure."

I take the grey cassette from her hand and look at it. The label read 'BLIND GUARDIAN- A TWIST IN THE MYTH'. I roll it over.

"Music can come from this? How?" I question.

Brady shrugs her shoulders. "I have no idea," she answered honestly. I see a button on the side and the Slytherin in me tells me to push it. I do, and the cassette explodes open. I drop the broken cassette in shock. Glassy strips curl themselves on the floor. I don't say a word, but Brady does.

"Oh Malfoy!" She wails. "This will take me forever to fix." She sighs and begins to slide her hands gently under the coils of black glass. I make no move to help her.

"This was my favorite one, too..." she mumbles. Brady sets the broken cassette in a plastic bag and turns on her music again. She is silent the rest of the ride, except for a small 'thank you' when Pansy buys her some Chocolate Frogs from the trolley.

It seems to be forever until the train begins to slow. Brady gets up to change, and that was the last I see of her on the train. Everyone in the cab dons their robes.

Once I exit the train, I catch sight of Brady as we are sorted by year by a giant of a mane with hair like a lion's mane. The man asks us to load ourselves three to each of the boats that were docked near the train. Pansy, Crabbe, and I gather in a boat while Brady, Goyle, and a nervous-looking blonde girl enter the one next to us. Once all the first-years are loaded, the boats shove off at the same time and head across the inky black lake. It was silent until the boats traveled around a bend and everyone catches their first sight of Hogwarts. There are gasps and chatters among all the first-years. I look over at Brady and I see her silent, eyes wide in amazement. Her hair shone in the light of the castle.

I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.


	8. Octavianus

*Silvera's POV*

Thank Merlin I had been raised in the Muggle world! After that little slip up on the Hogwarts Express, being a Muggleborn is easier than I thought it would be. When Draco broke my favorite cassette, though, I wanted to hex him to Kingdom Come. When I am alone I can use 'Reparo', but until then my cassette will remain broken. What pains me more than the cassette is the way Draco reacted. He just sat back and didn't do anything to help. He didn't even apologize! What a jerk. His whole blood-hierarchy must be pretty serious. At least he hasn't asked me any questions about my family yet. Come to think about it, he hasn't really talked to me at all.

I'm in a boat with Goyle and another girl. In the boats, we travel around a bend to face the great castle.

"That there's Hogwarts," Pansy says to me, our boats only a couple feet apart. My eyes cannot open wide enough. The pictures I've seen do not do the castle justice.

"It's marvellous," I say as we near the castle, remembering my position. The boats harbor themselves on the other side of the inky lake uneventfully, except when a clumsy boy falls out of his boat and, earning several screams of horror, he is thrown back in the boat with the aid of several tentacles.

"Fred and George weren't kidding 'bout the giant squid," the red-haired boy I saw on the train mused. He must be the twins' brother.

All of the first-years enter the castle with some degree of nervousness. We are gathered into a small area and Professor McGonagall explains the goings-on of the night, and leads us into an enormous room with tall ceilings and candles floating above for tables.

"Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw," Draco explains quietly, pointing to each of the four tables.

_Finally, he's taking over his job_, I think.

"The ceiling is bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History,_" a chatty girl with bushy brown hair whispered on my right.

Standing in a line, all the first-years anxiously wait as McGonagall places a ratty old pointed hat on a stool. To their surprise, the hat opened at the brim and began to sing. It sings about the four Houses of Hogwarts; their beginnings and the characteristics attributed to each House. The Hat finishes and falls silent. The room bursts into applause. When it dies down, McGonagall begins to call out names.

"Abbott, Hannah!" was the first. A girl with pigtails runs to the stool and places the hat on her head. After a moment of silence, the hat shouts "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hufflepuff table claps loudly as they aquire the first student. A few other names are called before McGonagall shouts,

"Brady, Silvera!" I walk nervously up to the hat, my mind spinning. I gently place the hat on my head.

"Well," a little voice says. "You would make a wonderful Ravenclaw..."

_Bunch of pricks,_ I think, and the voice chuckles.

"Don't want to be known for smarts like your sister, eh? Well, you're definitely courageous enough, since you _are_ here after all, but you harbor dark secrets, and anger... I'd say SLYTHERIN!" The Sorting Hat yelled the last word aloud, and I hear whoops and cheers from the Slytherins.

I am dazed as I trot to the Slytherin table. As the first Slytherin Sorted, I earn many pats on the back and places to sit. I catch sight of Siria at the Ravenclaw table. To my surprise, she gives me a thumbs-up and mouths 'good job'. I smile at her. What will Dad think? I hope he won't be mad.

I sit in between two fifth-years. I watch as the rest of the first-years are Sorted. Crabbe and Goyle are Sorted into Slytherin, as I suspected. The hat barely touches Draco's head before it yells "SLYTHERIN!" Pansy sits by Draco after she is Sorted as well.

Once the Sorting is finished, the most food I have ever seen in my life appears before my eyes. There isn't much talking as every student in the Great Hall stuffs their faces with food. After dessert, Dumbledore stands and says a few words (literally- "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!") Siria wasn't kidding when she told me Dumbledore was a bit mad. The evening continues with the school song, which doesn't actually have a tune; each student picks one of their own. I spot the famous Fred and George Weasley as they are the last two singing, synchronizing a slow march. School-wide announcements follow.

"And now, bedtime!" Dumbledore chirps. "Off you trot!" I stay in my seat as I see Dumbledore making a beeline towards me.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Brady," he greets us, tugging Draco back by his collar. I stand in respect.

"Headmaster," I say in return.

He smiles. "Now, I'm sure you two are quite tired after our travels today, so I will make this brief. Silvera, you are the only Shadow Hogwarts has this year. Because of this, and the fact that you have both been Sorted into the same House, the staff and I agree that the best way for the system to work is to have separate dorms from your House. You may use the Slytherin common room, but you will also have one of your own. This way, you will be able to spend more time getting to know each other and," Dumbledore glances at Draco, "not give the slip to your duties. One more thing to each of you- I can tell your relationship has gotten off to a rocky start, so I ask if you would take this month and spend one hour a day with each other. It may be as simple as doing homework together or talking. I expect a report at the end of the month, and maybe a reward will be given if you fulfill your duty," the Headmaster's eyes twinkle. "Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin, will lead you to your dormitories. Good night!"

Draco and I are speechless as Dumbledore walks out of the Great Hall. We follow who we assume is Professor Snape.

Snape is a tall, gaunt, oily-haired teacher who dresses in black robes.

"The password is Octavianus," he grumbles in a husky baritone. He leaves Draco and I at our painting with only a swish of his cape.

"Octavianus," Draco commands once Professor Snape is out of earshot. The painting swings open, knocking me to the floor. Draco says nothing and begins to climb the stairs behind the painting. I run after him but I keep my distance. I reach the top of the stairs and join Draco in a big open area. There is a large fireplace and several mahogany couches and a table to work at. The carpet is black and fuzzy. On the right there is another stairwell, probably to the Slytherin common room. We face two doors; the left door has an American flag hanging on it and _Silvera_ etched in silver on the wood, the right door sports a hanging Union Jack and _Draco_ etched in the same manner. Draco mutters a 'goodnight' and hurries to his room, shutting and locking the door. I decide to follow suit, and I open the door to my room.

I gasp. In the back of my room there is a gorgeous four-poster bed, the drapes are silver and the wood is ebony in color. A work desk and a large bookshelf match the bed. An enchanted window sits on the left wall, facing my bed. I am glad for it, since I am too far down in the dungeons to have an actual window. I would go mad without it. An easel is placed in between the desk and the closet, and a door on the right is the bathroom, I assume.

I notice that Oliver is not there, hooting away. Siria told me that the owls are kept in the Owlery, so I assume they put him there. My trunk sits on the floor, so I begin to unpack, despite my tiredness.

As I finish filling my bookshelves, my hand hits something at the back of the bookshelf.

"Ow," I mumble, and I pull out the offending object. It ends up being a small gold figure of a lion, a little bigger than a Golden Snitch. It's very heavy, but beautifully polished. The lion is wearing a red decorative blanket with red tassels. I removed the soft fabric from the lion's back. On it, in gold script, are the words _Never forget who you are_.

"Weird," I say to the empty room. "I'm not a Gryffindor. Maybe whoever lived here last left it." I place the handsome statue on my desk and replace its blanket. The message is oddly encouraging.

I walk through the bathroom, my bare feet padding on the cool tiles. I brush my teeth and hair, then decide to peek in on Draco. I ease open the door. The room is much bigger than mine, with higher ceilings. Draco's room has a much darker and regal mood to it than mine. His room does not have a window or an easel, but instead a vanity mirror and a baby grand piano. Both pieces accentuated the dark mood hanging in the room. Draco was laying pyjamas neatly into his dresser. He must not have heard me open the door. He is humming a minor lullaby tune.

"Goodnight, Draco," I say quickly, and shut the door. I hear a quiet "what the-" before I hurry into bed.

It takes me awhile to get to sleep, but when I finally feel myself drifting, I swear I can hear the firs few chords of Für Elise in the distance...


	9. Oh, Sleeper

A/N:Aww, getting lonely over here with only one comment!:( Please drop by and just say that you love the story, or you hate it, I don't know. This is the hardest I've ever worked on any story in my entire life, so I'd really love to know what you all think!

Originally, this chapter was really long, but I'm tired, lazy, and the last bit works better with the next chapter. So, yeah.

Also, I know that Potions is not their first ever class at Hogwarts, but that's what I'm making it. This is hands-down my favorite chapter. :) Enjoy!

Ciao!

M

*Draco's POV*

I can't sleep.

I assume it's around 1:30 AM, but it's hard to tell when there are no windows. I toss and turn under the mass of blankets, trying in vain to get comfortable.

"Ugh, what's the use?" I groan. I unwrap myself from the blankets and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I've had many nights like this before, when I was little. I would always head to Father and Mother's room. Unlike other children, though, I had no desire to wake or disturb my parents. I just liked to watch them sleep. I had a fascination with sleeping people. People who are asleep are unguarded; what they've made themselves be fades away and the mind is left raw, how it actually is without a mask.

I loved watching my mother sleep. I've always thought of her as beautiful, like an angel. She was more angelic when she slept, her face always serene and pleasant. Minds are so altered when it thinks someone is watching them.

I know I won't get anywhere by sitting here, so I do something my inner voice tries to stop me from doing.

I go to watch Brady sleep.

She seems like a person that leaves their door unlocked, and I am correct. I creep into her room as quietly as possible.

Brady's room is the model of beautiful simplicity. A magnificent amount of books stock her bookshelf, a drawing easel is full of parchment. The top sheet is decorated with a half-drawn dragon, its claws crushing stone, its leathery wings poised in attack. On her desk are quills and school books, the cork board above the desk filled with little pieces of parchment, reminding her to do this, that, and the other thing. The only decorative piece on her desk is a small gold lion with a red blanket draped on its back.

_What an odd decoration_, I think.

Then, there is Brady herself. The moonlight from her enchanted window glows on her face, turning the olive skin to a pale silver. Her hair is splayed out in a halo-like fashion around her face, making her look slightly like a lion. I chuckle quietly at the thought. Brady's features are a thing of beauty. In these moments, since I stepped foot into her room, I have forgotten all about blood, about my upbringing, and this Mudblood that I have been conditioned to hate since I was a little boy. I only see a girl and her mind.

I lean against the post, watching her chest rise and fall and thinking. Suddenly, her face contorts into an expression of fear and anger.

"No, no, give her back," she murmurs and tosses her head in denial. I hear dread rising with volume.

"No! _Don't touch my sister_!" She yells, her arms and legs thrashing. Then, she screams.

It is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever heard, and I pray to every god that comes to my head that I never have to hear it again.

Before I can think, I am beside her, trying to hold her arms down. When her screams increase, I notice that was the wrong thing to do. Instead, I move over her and she slaps my cheek, hard. I don't care, though. I have received worse from my father. Unlike my father, though, Brady is not hurting me because she hates me, but because I have taken the place of an invisible foe that is hurting someone she loves. She screams hateful things at me as she punches me. When she throws a particularly hard punch I step back. She sighs in victory.

"Siria," she calls, reaching for someone who was not there. Her sister is not there, but I am. _I am comforting her mind, not her,_ I say to myself as I hug her.

"Don't worry, I'm here. I'm safe," I coo.

I leaned on her more than anything, but it seemed to work. She smiles and wraps her arms around me. It feels like one of Mother's embraces.

"Oh, Siria," she whispers,"I love you so much."

With that, she falls back into a deep sleep. After awhile her grip loosens and I pry out of her grasp. I straighten my bedclothes and sit on the edge of her bed, making sure she doesn't have another nightmare.

After awhile, I return to my own bed. I fall to sleep quickly, a peaceful feeling resting over me.

*Silvera's POV*

I am rudely awakened by my father's alarm clock. I had to borrow one of his old ones since electronics do not work inside of Hogwarts.

Excited, I dress in my brand-new uniform and robe. According to my list, 9:00 is my first class- Potions with the Gryffindors. Most of the Gryffindors are a good lot, even though they're technically Slytherin's rival House. I head to the bathroom to freshen up, brush my hair and the like, but I find the door to the bathroom locked. Angrily I snatch my wand from my pocket.

"Alohomora!" I command, and the lock clicks. I triumphantly enter the bathroom. I hear running water and a sudden abrupt stop to a song I've never heard.

"Get out, Brady!" The dismembered voice snarls over the sound of pattering water.

"No," I put simply.

"I said, get OUT!" He yells, obviously furious.

"You gotta come out and do it yourself," I taunt.

"You filthy, stinking Mudbl-" Draco isn't allowed to finish as I send "Silencio!" his way.

"I'm not going to look or anything," I assured the angry boy. I brush my teeth and hair in peace. Draco has since stopped throwing a hissy fit and is almost done with his shower. I hear a sort of roaring noise and I know my spell is wearing off. I braid my hair and trot out of the bathroom. I shut the door in time to mute the "I AM GOING TO HEX YOU SO BAD, BRADY!"

I just laugh and make my way to the Great Hall for breakfast.


	10. Seen Better Days

I am just finishing a bowl of oatmeal when I see Draco behind me.

"You were screaming last night," he whispered harshly in my ear. At first I think he is going to tease me, but then I realize that his intent was not out of a mean spirit or to demoralize me. He almost seemed _caring_.

It is right then that the owls swoop into the Great Hall, a massive horde of them, carrying the morning mail. With disappointment I chew a pancake, knowing that there is no way Dad could have sent something by owl this fast. I choke on said pancake as Oliver makes a crash-landing on the wood table, spilling my milk and upsetting a third-year's bowl of corn flakes. Oliver flutters his wings and proudly hops into my empty oatmeal bowl.

"Well hello there, Oliver," I coo as I offer him a bit of my abandoned pancakes while untying a puny parcel from his leg. As I open the parcel, I see Oliver attempting to steal an entire pancake out of the corner of my eye. The parcel contains a note and a small, delicious-looking caramel.

_Here's something sweet for your first day of school, _the note reads. _You're gonna need it! Love, Siria_

I grin. Of course, it is just like Siria to send a note to me on the first day so I wouldn't feel left out. Oliver has somehow managed to pick up a whole pancake and fly off with it. I chuckle at the clumsy sight.

I return to my room after that. I grab my apothecary kit, cauldron, _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger, the eagle feather quill I got from Andrew, and a piece of parchment. The Potions classroom is not very far from my portrait, so I don't hurry.

The classroom is a dark, musty dungeon. It has windows, but all of them are covered by thick red curtains. The lighting is just adequate enough to read the Potions textbook. Professor Snape begins class with roll call. When he gets to the name Harry Potter, he stops.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new, _celebrity_." I hit Draco in the ribs with my elbow when he, Crabbe, and Goyle began to snicker. I realize the boy with the untamed black hair and piercing green eyes is _the_ Harry Potter. It's true; he practically _is_ a celebrity to every witch and wizard and their children. Snape continues roll call as if nothing happened. After role call, he begins on a strange note; telling the class the beauty of potions.

"Potter!" He snaps suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I look back at Harry Potter. He looks positively stumped. I'm not; those two ingredients make the Draught of Living Death. Then again, I've been going through the books for years. The bushy-haired girl I heard talking about the Great Hall ceiling is sitting in front of Harry, her hand raised high in the air. I admire her boldness, but from what Siria tells me about Snape, you don't even want to mess with him.

"I don't know, sir," Harry replies respectfully after a moment. Poor thing, everyone knows Harry Potter was raised by Muggles.

"Tut tut- fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneers to the Boy Who Lived.

Things get worse for Harry as class goes on. Snape continues to prod him with questions that he doesn't know the answer to. Harry sinks farther down in his seat as the laughing gets louder. Now, as we are put into pairs to create a Boil-Cure potion, Snape is going around, criticizing everyone's work. I am paired with Draco this semester because of the whole Shadow thing. The one thing I do notice, though, is that Snape always has something good to say about Draco and I's work. The praise is mainly aimed at Draco, thankfully saving me from embarrassment.

When a clumsy Gryffindor boy, the same one that fell out of his boat (I now know his name is Neville Longbottom) makes his partners' cauldron melt, Snape is furious. Most of the kids stand on their stools in order not to get the rubber melted off the bottoms of their shoes, but Neville doesn't; his face is covered in boils. Snape sends Neville and his partner to Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse. Snape wastes no time in turning on Potter and the Weasley boy, blaming Potter for Neville's mistake, using his fame as a weapon. I can tell Harry is almost to the point of tears with frustration. He lunges at Snape's cloak, but Weasley holds him back, even though Snape's accusations are purely unfair.

What a wonderful start to school.

_Dear Dad,_ I write on a piece of parchment. _School's good, so far. I got Sorted into Slytherin, Dad. Please don't be mad at me._

_Anyway, my nightmares are back. Draco told me he heard me screaming last night. I don't know what to do, Dad. I'm scared to tell Madame Pomfrey._

_Please write back soon._

_Love,_

_Sil_

I fold the parchment, satisfied, and dip a puddle of hot candle wax as a seal, burning my finger in the process. I begin my walk to the Owlery.

When I was four years old, my mum died. Right away, my dad moved me, Siria, and Andrew to America. During that time, I began to have horrible nightmares. I would scream and kick, sometimes for an hour or more. Siria, who had the room next to mine, would wake up every night and have to listen to anguishing cries. I never remembered my nightmares, but I know they scarred Siria. Nothing Dad did helped, so he consulted an American Healer. The Healer took at least a week to find out what he could do to help. I remember it being very expensive. Our family has never had trouble with money, but I remember Dad having to pay ridiculous amounts for this potion. I guess it had this special petal of some flower only found in Minnesota and it blooms like once every blue moon or whatever. If my nightmares have truly come back, Dad will not be in a wonderful position.

It is a long walk to the Owlery, but I enjoy it. The warm summer air flows through the glassless windows of the Owlery. The wood floor is coated in hay and owl droppings, but it is quiet except for the hooting of arriving owls. Oliver flies down to sit on my shoulder as soon as I enter.

"I have a big job for you today, Oliver," I tell the bird. I feed him a bit of roll I saved from my hurried lunch. He hops onto a perch in front of me with a happy hoot and puts his leg out. I pat his head.

"You're flying across the ocean to Dad," I continue, tying the letter securely to his leg. "I'll miss you. Be safe. Bye Oliver!" Oliver hoots happily as he flies out the window.

I hurry back to the portrait so I can get my things for afternoon classes. I have Transfiguration and Charms today, two subjects that heavily interest me. Professor McGonagall teaches Transfiguration. By the way Snape acted, you would think that she would favor the Gryffindors, being the Head of House. I am thoroughly surprised when she gives everyone the same amount of homework- an essay on the history of Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick is a very small man who teaches charms. It is entertaining to see him climb on the stack of books on his chair to see over the desk. Flitwick teaches us that size does not matter, as he shows by conjuring a large boulder in the middle of the classroom. He lifts the boulder five feet off the ground with a simple flick of his wand.

Draco and I return to our portrait together after dinner. The portrait itself depicts a slight woman with fair skin and dark hair, pointed ears, and a long white dress. The woman stands in a gazebo, facing waterfalls and an evening sunset. She turns when she hears our footsteps.

"Aragorn?" She calls hopefully.

"No, sorry," I answer, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, that is quite alright, my dear. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, do you?"

Draco speaks before I can. "Again, sorry. We haven't seen Aragorn in a very long time. He'll come back, though, I'm sure of it. Octavianus."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, young man. And you also, my lady," she gestures towards me. I blush. The portrait opens and I make sure I am out of its path.

"Elves," Draco mutters, annoyed.

"She's an Elf?" I ask, mystified.

"Yeah, from Middle Earth. They're too slow and annoying."

I don't respond as we climb the final steps. I notice immediately that someone has been in our common room. Confetti litters the floor and sheets of paper are stuck on the walls and furniture. I grab a paper before commanding Scourgify. All the confetti and the rest of the papers disappear.

"Where'd you learn that?!" Draco asks incredulously.

"Read ahead," I mumble as I read.

_ATTENTION SLYTHERIN COMERADES:_ heads the paper. _In honor of the new additions to our beloved House, a party will be held in the Slytherin Common Room at 9:30 Friday night. Casual clothes only, please. All first-years are required to attend._

_-the Slytherin prefects_

"Awesome, a party!" I bounce up and down. "I can't wait!" I hear Draco grumbling. "Well, aren't you going, Draco?" I ask in a sickly sweet voice.

He growls. "Don't call me Draco."

With that, he storms to his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Fine, _Malfoy_!" I shout at the closed door.

"Wonder what I did this time..." I think out loud. I then retreat to my own room and start my homework. I can't concentrate, however, as my thoughts are occupied by a magnificent party and a suddenly irate blond-haired boy.


	11. Within Temptation

\- 1 month later -

The party in the Slytherin common room proved to be one of several, although they were not as extravagant as the first party. One of the prefects told me there would be one every time Slytherin wins a Quidditch match, once the season starts in November.

The purpose of the party was to act as an initiation for the new first years, I guess. Every kid my age was given a mentor to help him or her throughout fall term. I was paired with this seventh year named Tristan Sullivan; he's an Italian half-blood and he has really nice hair. Siria told me half the girls in her year have a huge crush on him. Trist is really good at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy, and it is such a relief to be able to work with someone who knows what they're talking about. Malfoy doesn't bother to try on his work unless his dad owls him about his failing grades in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Ah, Malfoy. It's almost been a month since Dumbledore talked to us, and as promised, we spend one hour in each other's presence each day. We only work on homework, though. When the hand on my watch hits the next hour, we scurry to our rooms. Usually, Malfoy makes comments like 'Stupid Mudblood interrupting my studies' under his breath before retreating to his own room. I decide to put an end to his snarky remarks.

I sit at my desk placidly, switching from chewing my quill to drawing little flowers on the margins of my Transfiguration notes, waiting. As I figured, there is a harsh rap on my door.

"Brady! What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Came the voice of a very annoyed Malfoy.

"I'm studying, Malfoy," I counter sweetly. "What are _you_ doing?"

I hear a frustrated groan. "I've been waiting out here for, like, an hour! We had an agreement!" I check my watch. It has only been about 15 minutes since we both got back from supper.

"There was no agreement, you stupid git."

"Come on, Brady!" Malfoy pleads. His tone changes as he continues, "aren't you curious to see what that old codger Dumbledore has for us?"

"Not enough to deal with you for another hour."

"Brady, please!" There is a thudding noise as Malfoy slaps his palm on the door in frustration. I try not to laugh.

"Malfoy, leave my poor door alone and just come in here." I swish my wand with an 'alohomora' and it unlocks. Malfoy stumbles in, his normally ghost-like cheeks flushed with frustration.

"I do not spend an hour a day in your filthy presence for you to just _quit_!"

"Take a seat, Malfoy," I gesture to a plush chair Siria transfigured for me.

"What? Uh, no," he huffs, obviously annoyed at being bossed around.

Malfoy's stupid voice is getting under my skin. "Okay," I say. Turning suddenly, I yell, "Petrificus Totalus!" Draco's face is one of almost comical horror as he falls backwards, stiff as a board, onto the back of the chair. I drag the frozen Slytherin to the side of my bed and heave him onto it with much difficulty.

"Malfoy, I know you hate my guts and whatever, but I am plain sick of your constant criticisms and rude comments. I'm sure you're the reason I have no friends in my own House except for Tristan!" I snarl the last part, letting the gaunt boy know I mean business. "Now, I'll grant your wish. I'll spend an hour with you, but it's on _my_ terms."

Knowing he can't make any audible comments, I skip happily to my bookshelf and select the single most boring book on the planet: the first-year History of Magic textbook. "I'll be reading to you, Malfoy," I giggle. "I'd relax if I were you; you're gonna be here for awhile."

I look at my watch for the time and promptly begin reading. I have to re-apply the Petrifying charm a few times, since my magic is weak and untrained. When the hands on my watch conclude the time is 9:15, I see Malfoy is able to blink and make slight guttural noises. I slam the book shut and begin making the treacherous journey through the bathroom with a Petrified Malfoy. Once he is lying on the floor in his own bedroom, I lock both doors to the bathroom in time to hear Malfoy yell, "BRADY!"

I laugh until my stomach hurts.

It's been a week or so since I got to my irritating roommate by Petrifying him, and I can tell that Malfoy and his 'friends' Crabbe and Goyle are planning to get back at me. Their brains are so tiny so I'm not worrying too much. So far, their only attempts to sabotage me have been trying to pour salt into my pumpkin juice and Crabbe tried to discreetly throw in an extra leaf of sage into my draught during Potions a few days ago. It exploded and my Gryffindor partner got itchy rashes all over our faces. Snape sent us to Madame Pomfrey's without allowing me to explain. I liked him less and less every day.

I eat my pancakes with some of the more civil Slytherins, mostly third and fourth year girls. They don't talk to me much, which I'm fine with, but I do get the opportunity to listen in on the gossip and general goings-on. They mostly discuss boys, the most recent tests, and the current relationship statuses of seemingly every student at Hogwarts. I am in the middle of pouring syrup on my third pancake when the air in front of me bursts into flames. I scream and the pot of hot syrup shatters into gooey pieces on the floor. Down at the other end of the table, Malfoy's friends and some sixth years snicker as he stands a few feet away from the table. He dusts off his rear with his hands, his pallid cheeks red with embarrassment. He must have fallen off his chair too, and I stifle a giggle. Lying on my pancake rests an innocent roll of white paper tied with a little silver ribbon. I steal a glance at Malfoy's spot and he is busy fishing an identical roll out of his oatmeal. I shrug and do the same. The roll is perfectly clean upon inspection, which is rather nice considering syrup never comes out of anything. I pull the bow and it vanishes. I unfurl the roll.

_Miss Brady_, it reads in flowing script,_ Please see me in my office along with Mr. Malfoy at 8:30a. The password is_ Sherbet Lemon. _Have an excellent rest of your breakfast. –Professor Dumbledore_. I glance over to the staff table at the head of the Great Hall and am not really surprised to note the Headmaster's absence.

"Do you know where Professor Dumbledore's office is?" I ask the girl sitting beside me. She had long brown hair that was pulled back and piercing green eyes. She glanced at me then nodded at another girl who was finished with her breakfast.

"Come on with me," she beckons, grabbing a breakfast roll from a basket and standing. I follow her quietly. On the way she doesn't say much, aside from introducing herself as Rachel Morton. She leaves me with a kind farewell at the twin stone gargoyles that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. I wring my hands together, wondering what I could have done to have gotten in enough trouble that I'd have to go to Professor Dumbledore himself instead

"Uh, Sherbet Lemon," I say, not really sure who exactly to say it to. To my relief, the door opens and a staircase appears behind it. I walk up the stairwell cautiously. As I reach the top, I hear the door open again and hear who could only be Malfoy clattering up the stairs. I stare in amazement at the Headmaster's office. Covering every surface are gold and silver instruments and statues of all sorts; busts of great wizards of long ago, magical aids, and even metal Muggle instruments like gyroscopes and even an ancient cathode ray tube. Its obvious Professor Dumbledore is fascinated with all things, Muggle and magical. The room is giant but homey; the wood floor creaks and the room is bathed in a soft golden light. The Headmaster sat behind his desk, hands folded neatly and a kind smile adorning his wizened face.

"Miss Brady, come in and sit," said Professor Dumbledore. "You too, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy and I sink into the squishy armchairs that sat in front of his desk.

"So, how did the month go for you two?" Dumbledore asks, glancing at both of us.

"Well, sir," I coughed, "We did as you said; an hour a day."

"'Cept for last week when you Petrified me…." the blond git in the chair next to me trails off.

"That still counts! It was an hour," I retort.

Before we get into a huge fight, the Headmaster interjects.

"Enough, you two! Obviously, this past month has done absolutely nothing for you two." We fall silent and he sighs. "What do you two suggest we do here? The Shadowing must continue, on account of the Unbreakable Vow."

I hear grumbles coming from Malfoy's chair. "Surely there's something you can do, sir," I plead.

"I'm sorry, Miss Brady, but I can't do anything. Oh, that reminds me..." Dumbledore trails off, leaving Malfoy and I mildly confused.

"What, exactly, are you reminded of?" Malfoy pipes. The twinkle returns to the Headmaster's eyes.

"Why, your reward, of course!" He exclaimed. "I'm inclined to keep my promise, although it didn't really work out as I had hoped. I have a few Chocolate Frogs for you both, but I just recently thought of something even better." Malfoy and I perk up as the Headmaster hands us both the chocolate wizard confections.

"You may not see the beauty in it now," Dumbledore begins, almost reverently, as he digs in a drawer, "but later, I'm sure you'll appreciate it." With a wink, he pulls out two vials of sky-blue liquid from the drawer and hands one to each of us. I raise my eyebrow in confusion as I study the bottle. Around the cork stopper is a gold chain and a little gold dragon hangs from it; its little wings are folded meticulously on its back and one scaly foot is held regally in the air. I sneak a peek at Malfoy, who is examining his bottle as well. His has a silver chain attached to his bottle, but I can't make out the figure that hangs from it. I hear Dumbledore clear his throat and Malfoy meets my eyes. I turn away, embarrassed.

"Miss Brady," Dumbledore warns.

"I'm sorry, Professor, what was that?"

"As I was saying, this is a potion called Tollere Atrocitas. Once consumed, this potion will aid you in seeing the best in the one whose hair is placed in it."

"I have to drink her_ hair_?!" Malfoy exclaims. "This is stupid, not to mention gross."

"Malfoy, watch your tongue," I chide.

"Shut up."

"Quiet, both of you." Dumbledore faces Malfoy. "Mister Malfoy, the potion will dissolve the hair. You won't taste a thing. Come now, this could be very good for you. In fact, it tastes rather like that Muggle sweet, candy floss I believe it is called." Dumbledore smiles.

Malfoy whispers to me. "What's candy floss?"

"I'll tell you later."

Malfoy huffs and crosses his arms. I pull a hair or two from my scalp, wincing, at Dumbledore's gesture. I hand the hair to Malfoy, who assumes a look of disgust before taking my hair with two bony fingers.

"How long will this last?" The insufferable boy asks Dumbledore, swishing the potion in the vial.

"Around one month, Mr. Malfoy. My hopes are that it will aid in the friendship between you two. Why don't you drink it?"

Malfoy handed a platinum hair to me and I placed it in the potion. It sizzles before disappearing. Malfoy uncorks his and does the same. My potion turns to a quicksilver-looking liquid. Turning to Malfoy, I see his has turned a pleasant chocolate brown. Malfoy pinches his nose.

"Bottoms up," he says, then downs his potion. I don't know what that means, but I follow him. The charm on the neck of the bottle bumps my lip. The potion does not taste vile as I was expecting. It was warm and spicy. I feel a bit sad when I finish it.

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkle. "Good luck to both of you. I will check in with you in two weeks' time to rate your progress. You're excused."

*Draco POV*

I swear, this potion is _weird_. I feel weird, like, _nice_. For once in the past month, Silvera, er, Brady, and I have been civil toward each other. For the first time, I'm actually_ looking_ at her, not just seeing her. Her eyes are bright and full of life. There are little gold specks in her irises that almost glow when she gets excited about something. Her laugh brightens rooms, it really does. She's really kind, and she goes about her daily life with a smile and never complains.

When I drank the potion Dumbledore gave us, I plugged my nose so I didn't get to taste the entire thing, and i regret it. It tasted just like it looked; like smooth melted chocolate. Every so often I got a taste of something spicy, like really fresh ginger, but I forgot about it when I tasted chocolate again.

I keep the chain from my bottle around my neck. It came with a silver peacock charm, which I find amusing since my family has peacocks roaming our estate. I see no reason as to not wear it. It sits under my shirt, on my chest. It's warm. I see my Shadow also wears her necklace from Dumbledore. Unlike mine, hers is a fine gold. Her charm looks like a winged horse; a dragon, maybe. In History of Magic, easily the most boring class ever taught by an even more boring teacher, she plays with it as she takes notes. Her studiousness impresses me, probably since I fight sleep every time I'm in that classroom... And I usually lose. Brady keeps her chain out in the open, over her shirt, for all to see. In fact, she often does get looks of admiration and jealousy from girls in other Houses.

The coolest thing I've noticed about my little peacock is that I swear sometimes it's _alive_, like, one time in Potions, Snape commended me on my Frozen Burn potion. That scrawny 'celebrity' Potter spilled some of his potion on his partner's arm and the kid was sent to Pomfrey. I swear I could feel it move, and when I looked, it seemed to have raised its head pompously and ruffled its tail feathers, but it was rock solid. I want to tell Brady, but she'll think I'm crazy. But, she seems pretty understanding... Maybe I will tell her about it...

*Silvera POV*

Dumbledore's potion, once it took effect, was odd to say the least, like, I'm seeing Draco in a new light. I mean, he's still there in all his narcissistic glory, but it's almost nonexistent compared to the good I see in him now. Like, I found out that he likes his alone time, even though he's good at socializing. He really really_ really_ loves chocolate cake. He even showed me a soft side of him the other day when he admitted that he still sleeps with a stuffed hippocampus that he's had since he was 3. Seeing his good qualities isn't so bad, I guess. He's kind of nice to me sometimes, although he's been terrible to Harry Potter and his friends in Gryffindor. He calls Hermione Granger, the frizzy-haired bookworm, 'Mudblood' all the time. You'd think, if you didn't know her, that that's her name. He doesn't call me that so much anymore, but Draco keeps calling her names. I guess the niceness doesn't spread to others, which is unfortunate. I hope, someday, that he figures out that his words hurt.


End file.
